Happy Hour
by NeoNails
Summary: Neal/Lauren. "We have a new case." He had to be joking. "It would be more normal if Neal brought, uh... date." Was he high? "I'm an FBI agent, not Caffrey's arm candy!"


This is my first _White Collar_ fanfic, but it's hardly something new to me (you can check out my profile and see all of the various levels of crazy I've got spread around ). 'Cuz this is my first shot, I'm really not sure about it because I'm still working on understanding the characters' personalities.

I know technically the show is Neal/Kate, but I really, really like Lauren and damned if I didn't find her little crush on Neal adorable. Maybe it wasn't intended as a crush, but that's how I'm taking it. ;)

$4$

_One too many drinks tonight  
& I miss you  
Like you were mine_

- "Come Round Soon," by Sara Bareilles

**

* * *

**

"We have a new case."

He had to be joking.

"Wealthy heiress and socialite Alana Whitely's dog was kidnapped."

"_What?_" she snapped. Lauren didn't mean to shout that, but this had to be some kind of sick prank. Not that her boss, FBI Agent Peter Burke, ever pulled a prank on her, but there was no way this could be happening.

_Not now…_

"I know, and I tried to explain to Miss Whitely that the FBI does not deal with 'dognappings,' until she explained that her dog was wearing a 2.5 million dollar diamond dog collar. Apparently, she's hosting some kind of doggy benefit and the collar was going to be auctioned off and the money earned would be donated to the charity."

She couldn't stop the sigh. "So I have to come in. At 6:30 at night. For a _dognapping_," she repeated, incredulous. She loved her job- she really did. Most people would expect the 'white collar' division of the FBI to be boring and tedious, but her boss and his enigmatic partner kept it from being anything but.

"Lauren, this is our case," Peter said heavily over the phone, and she knew if he had been there he would've been giving her his stern, 'you're better than this' stare. "And we need the whole team to get here as soon as possible."

She clutched the cellphone to her ear, screwing up her eyes as she tried to picture how she was going to be able to get out of this one. "Fine," she said heavily. "I'll be there in 15."

They said their goodbyes and she dropped her phone in her little clutch, walking down the narrow hallway and out into the dining room, carefully weaving around the white cloth-covered tables and the nicely dressed patrons occupying the modern dark wood chairs.

As she got closer to her table, she could feel that fist-sized knot in her stomach double, and then quadruple. This was her favorite restaurant. This was supposed to be the perfect night. Everything had been going so well!

She brushed her bangs from her eyes, sliding into her seat with an apologetic smile. "That was-"

Paul grimaced. "Your boss, yeah, I figured." He hesitated, fiddling with his wine glass. "You have to leave, don't you?"

She sighed. So much for her perfect night.

**

* * *

**

She walked out of the elevator and into the bullpen, trying not to growl. Peter already was briefing the rest of the team, and they were all listening intently as he filled them in on the latest details of their debutante dog case.

"Well, don't we clean up nice." She was going to punch something- no, she was going to punch Neal. She was sure he was still listening to whatever Peter was saying, but his eyes were locked on her- well, probably her dress.

She knew she should've stopped by her apartment and changed into work clothes. It would've taken more time, but at least she wouldn't have to deal with Neal's reaction.

"Don't start," she growled, tossing her clutch on her desk and snagging the manila file there. Her muscles were tense and she could feel a blush beginning to creep up on her cheeks, but she refused to get flustered. Neal loved to knock her off-kilter, but damned if she was going to let him get under her skin.

Neal winced. "We interrupt a hot date?" he asked, and she almost detected actual sympathy in his tone.

She didn't respond, eyes flashing to Peter. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch her interaction with Neal. She was mad, but she wasn't going to cause a scene in front of a bunch of her coworkers.

Peter was smart enough to ignore her dress and heels, but there was no way he missed her 'I'm going to gut your partner' scowl. "Right now, no one but Miss Whitely and her husband knows that the dog is actually missing. They're still holding the benefit, but they currently have a fake-" he glanced at the papers with a wince, "-Pompom set up, modeling an equally fake diamond dog collar."

"They're still having this party?!" Lauren asked, sufficiently distracted from her murderous thoughts.

"We think this was an inside job," Hughes said, filling her in as he flipped through some folders. "So we figure that whoever orchestrated this would still have to show up to the party so as not to arouse suspicion."

"We're gonna have someone go undercover," she stated, quickly connecting the dots. She studied Peter's face. "But how are we gonna get in?"

"Of course, Miss Whitely was more than happy enough to get us an invitation to her party, but it appears we already have a donor for her cause," Peter replied, raising an eyebrow.

She didn't have to think twice. "You donated to a _doggy benefit?!_" she said, swiveling to focus on Neal.

He spun lazily in his chair, smirk fully in place. "I can't like dogs?" he asked, blue eyes wide. If he wasn't such a damned good liar, she'd almost call his look 'innocent.'

Lauren's shoulders dropped, and she had to stare at him incredulously. "So he's going undercover- alone- to find this dognapper/diamond theif?" she asked, glancing at Peter for confirmation. This was too ridiculous to possibly be true.

Almost on cue, all of the other agents seemed to lose focus on their briefing, busying themselves with walking back to their desks or fiddling with paperwork.

Her eyes narrowed, and Peter actually looked a little nervous. That wasn't a good sign. "Well, I don't want to leave Neal _alone_, but I figured it would look suspicious if Hughes or I tagged along, but normal if he, uh, brought a… date."

He couldn't be insinuating… She felt like she had been slapped. She felt like she needed to slap someone. Was he _high?_

Under normal circumstances, Lauren would have no problem going undercover (even with Neal) to do her job. Right now, however, her night had been going so poorly for so long that this was the freaking cherry on top of her awful day.

"I'm an FBI agent, not Caffrey's arm candy!" she snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration. She knew she was blowing this out of proportion, but she mentally figured was allowed to react badly to one day out of the year.

"Why can't it be both?" Neal asked, but she refused to look at him- she was afraid she was going to maul him if she did and then Peter would have to arrest her for assault.

"Look, I know you've had a bad night, but we need someone to go undercover with Neal," Peter explained carefully. "I need you to do this." He stared at her meaningfully.

All of her anger disappeared. Peter trusted her, even when she was losing her shit in a slinky dress and heels in the middle of the bullpen, and there was no way she could let him down, regardless of what she _really_ wanted to do.

She squared her shoulders and nodded once. "I'm sorry, Boss," she said. "I understand."

Peter smiled and turned, ending their meeting and heading to his office to no doubt get their paperwork and equipment in order.

"On the plus side, you don't need to change tonight because you've already got a stunning dress on," Neal said, standing next to her with that insufferable grin on his face. Peter had froze in his tracks, clearly expecting a fight, but she just let her eyes slip close and began to count backwards from ten.

She was going to wind up punching Neal by the end of the night.

**

* * *

**

_Ten, nine, eight, seven…_

She kept counting, but it wasn't getting any better.

After they got into the doggy party from hell, people kept swarming the two of them.

That wasn't true. _Women_ kept swarming them. Which wasn't surprising, because even without his charm and to her everlasting chagrin Neal Caffrey was still absolutely gorgeous. Obviously, a bunch of socialites and debutantes who had practically been groomed in the art of finding an attractive mate had zoomed in on him like lionesses zeroing in on an injured gazelle.

It would be funny if it wasn't so damned annoying.

And they completely ignored her. That wasn't so awful because it wasn't as if she expected to have an actual conversation with any of these women, but it certainly was getting on her nerves to watch them all but throw themselves at Neal as she stood right next to him.

"Oh, you are just so _funny!_" the blonde one said, tossing her curly hair over her shoulder and whacking Neal's arm affectionately. The brunette and the black girl next to her tittered in amusement, eyes at all times glued to him.

Lauren looked out at the growing crowd, trying in vain to ignore her 'date' and his paramours, and instead search for the possible thief. She heard another trill of laughter, and she tilted her head back, downing the rest of the champagne in her glass in one gulp.

She wasn't supposed to drink on the job, but this was only her second glass and they were only about half-full. She deserved at least two glasses.

"Ohmygod, and you're so _bad!_" More high-pitched laughter.

Maybe three glasses.

"I'm sorry, ladies, but I have to go dote on my wonderful girlfriend." Her head swiveled around and she stared at Neal, clutching her empty champagne flute to her chest. What the hell was he doing? She was having a fine time looking for any possible suspects while he charmed the little dumbasses.

He wrapped around her waist, carefully steering her away from his little toys and closer to the dance floor. "So I'm your girlfriend now?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"They weren't really taking the hint," he whispered into her ear, and she had to repress a shiver. "I had to take drastic measures."

He extracted the glass from her hand, setting it down on a nearby table as he took her now empty hand in his own.

"What the hell are you doing?" she said, body tensing. His arm tugged her closer to him, pulling her flush against his body. "We're supposed to be looking for the thief."

"You're my date," he said simply, slowly turning her in tune with the soft music coming from the live band. "It would look suspicious if a guy didn't dance with his beautiful date."

It was official. She was going to punch him now.

His grip around her hand tightened. "You can't hit me," he said, tipping his head so his lips brushed her jaw. "Peter would have to storm in to stop you and then our undercover operation would be blown."

She tilted her head, but it was just to pretend to consider his response, not to encourage his mouth on her neck. That would be unprofessional.

"I'm pretty sure I could punch you right now and find a way to not blow our cover," she said, making sure her voice stayed even. "In fact, if you're challenging me, I'm _positive_ I could find a way."

"Come on," he wheedled, "You get to be a hot date and you don't want to enjoy it- even a little?"

She felt her face heat up, and for once she was thankful they were so close that he couldn't see her face. "Would you knock it off with that 'hot date' crap?" she said. "We're here to find the damned dognapper."

"Yes, yes, we're going to find the dognapper," he said, and she could tell he was beginning to grow frustrated. Good! He had been frustrating her all night!

He was still holding her close, swaying to the music, and she frowned. He was so freaking distracting- it wasn't right for him to smell that good. It was masculine and heady and as much as she wanted to let her knees get weak she couldn't. She needed to keep an eye on him, not melt into a Lauren-shaped puddle just because he smelled good.

God, her night sucked.

"So what happened?" he asked, clear blue eyes lighting on her big brown ones. "Was it a big date?"

She wanted to disagree, make up some excuse to save what little shred of dignity she had left, but she knew there was no point. He'd read her in a second. "It was supposed to be our two month anniversary," she said, looking away from him and across the room to the other couples on the dance floor. "Which is sad, 'cuz it's not like we were even dating very long, but I'd already cancelled a bunch of our dates thanks to this job and he got pissed because he thought I wasn't willing to put our relationship in front of my job and this all sounds really juvenile now that I think about it." She sighed.

"It's not juvenile," he said, holding her hand closer to his chest. "You liked the guy. It's not your fault that he turned out to be an insensitive jackass."

She stared at him, temporarily forgetting her aversion and loosely wrapping her arm around his neck. "Thanks," she said, voice soft. "Even though I'd like to point out that I'm being told this by an undercover conman working with the FBI who happens to be posing as my date but is, in fact, still head over heels for his missing former partner and fellow convict ex-girlfriend."

He winced, and she wasn't sure if it was out of sympathy for her or him. "Kate was never actually convicted of anything," he corrected gently.

Lauren rolled her eyes. "Oh, you'll have to excuse me," she said sarcastically. "Head over heels for his former partner and fellow conman ex-girlfriend. Is that better?"

Neal smiled, and it was a genuine smile, one that made her soften her hard façade, just a little bit. "Not better," he said, "But more accurate."

"But," he said, "This is not about me. This is about you, and improving your mood. If not for your sake, then solely to ensure you don't decide to shoot Alana Whitely's husband in the groin."

She felt her body begin to relax. It wasn't always so bad when he was charming. It was kind of nice, once she got past his cockiness. He was a criminal, and a conman, but somewhere underneath that he was a nice guy. She liked to still think of him as a criminal, but there had been too many instances where he had gone above and beyond what was required of him by the FBI.

"Wait," Lauren said, fully processing what he had said. "Alana Whitely's husband? Why would I shoot him in the…" She pulled away, studying him. "You know something, don't you?"

His eyes were doing that twinkly thing, like he was letting her in on his private joke. In a way, he sort of was. "It's awful convenient, isn't it?" he said, staring over her shoulder at Alana Whitely and her husband. "Did you know they have such thing as pet insurance? This, of course, is in addition to the insurance taken out on that dog collar."

She swiveled her head around, getting a good look at the husband in question. He seemed pretty smarmy, but that was hardly proof that the guy stole their pet and tried to swindle his wife and an animal rescue out of several million.

"We're gonna have to talk to him," Lauren said, trying not to sigh. And she was starting to like dancing with him, too.

Neal gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah," he agreed. "We are. After this dance."

She tried to glare disapprovingly, but it was halfhearted at best and she gave up all pretences when he flashed her his trademark smirk. It really was impossible not to smile back.

**

* * *

**

"That was kind of anticlimactic," Neal commented, sinking into a nearby chair. They were back in the bullpen, having successfully captured the thief and rescued Pompom. Luckily, Lauren had just enough champagne and adrenaline running through her veins to smile wryly and flop into her own chair, twirling a little on the wheels.

"It's always the husband," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, and began lazily unstrapping her high heels and kicking them off. "Or the best friend. Or the business partner. Or the butler."

She heard him chuckle and wheel his chair closer, but she was busy staring up at the ceiling, tracing the shapes and cracks on the cheap tiles. "The butler?" he repeated, and his voice made her smile.

She shrugged slightly, not even bothering to keep the laughter out of her voice. "I had to make the joke, corny as it is," she said.

"Oh, it's definitely corny." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was closer to her than he had been a few moments before, so she took the opportunity to kick him, aiming for his side but narrowly missing his groin.

"Hey!" he said, smoothly catching her ankle before it could reach its unintended target. "Not nice, Lauren."

She frowned, remembering distantly that she wasn't supposed to like it when he called her by her first name. Now, though, she didn't mind so much. She actually kind of liked the way he said her name.

He leaned down, picking up her other ankle and depositing it his lap, and she looked up, confused. Her feet were in his lap. This was supposed to be weird.

Why the hell wasn't this weird?

"Caffrey, what the hell are you doing?"

She looked over to watch Peter stride down the aisle, staring at Neal in alarm. When his eyes settled on her, he faltered. "Are you drunk, Cruz?"

Damn, she was supposed to know the answer to that question, wasn't she? Her eyebrows knitted together, and she tried to think of the right answer.

"I think she's closer to tipsy than she is drunk," Neal offered, and she looked back at him with a smile. He was pretty cute when he wasn't acting like an insufferable pain in the ass. "Besides, after tonight I'm pretty sure she's earned the right to drink."

Peter was still watching her, but he looked like he was closer to laughing. "I guess you have," he admitted. "But try not to kick Caffrey's ass when he inevitably tries something stupid."

Lauren giggled, nodding. "You got it, Boss," she said. She even saluted, still laughing to herself as she turned back to Neal.

"You know, you're not so annoying when you're acting like a normal guy," she said, wiggling her toes. "You're almost fun." She was grinning, and she knew she was beyond sober at this point but it felt good to relax.

"Almost?" he asked, catching her toes so she'd stop fidgeting.

She frowned but continued. "Yeah, 'cuz then you get that know-it-all smirk on your face like you know everything and then I kinda just wanna hit you."

He flashed her that precise grin and she rolled her eyes in response. "Yeah," she said. "That one. Your real smile is better."

Just like that, that charming smile slowly fading away to the genuine one that she studied earlier, the one that made her smile back, even if she was kind of mad at him in the back of her mind. "Much better," she said, settling further into her chair.

He cocked his head, and she has this inexplicable urge to run her fingers through his hair and push his curly hair away from his forehead.

She clearly needed to take a couple Tylenol and go to bed.

"Would you ever say all of this if you were sober?" he asked, his blue eyes soft as he studied her face. She had a feeling he already knew the answer before he even asked her, but she considered the question anyway.

"Probably not," she admitted, running her hand through her hair and mussing what was once a perfect updo. "But I'm being honest, so that's all you really need to know, right?"

"You're always honest."

Her eyebrows knit together. How the hell does he know that?

"Alright, we're done for the night," Peter says, walking out of his office, stacks of manila folders clutched in his hand as he dangles his jacket and keys in the other. "You can stop hitting on my agent now, Neal."

Neal opened his mouth to object, but she giggled and shook her head before he could object. "Boss, that's mean," she said. "I'd never let a manwhore hit on me."

Neal stared at her in abject horror. "Did you hear that?" he said, throwing Peter a look. "Peter, she called me a manwhore!"

"Yeah, I heard that part," Peter said, grinning at her. "C'mon, Cruz, Hughes is gonna give you a ride home."

"'Kay," Lauren said, pulling her feet out of Neal's lap and scooping up her heels and clutch. Home sounded great, especially the part where she was finally going to be able to pass out on her little bed. Peter led her to the elevator, and she threw one last look over her shoulder, giving Neal a little wave. "Bye, Neal."

He waved back, still smiling. Something stirred in her chest as they grinned at each other like idiots. Maybe she did like Neal more than she was willing to admit- even to herself.

Maybe this night wasn't as awful as she'd thought.

$4$

I'm honest- I can admit there's a lot of stuff here I'm not to keen on, not to mention I think there's some OOC-ness here and there because I haven't quite figured out everyone just yet. For right now, just blame it on the booze. XD

However, I will improve (hopefully)!

I know this is an impossibly tiny fandom with an even tinier Lauren/Neal population, but I gotta ask… What'd you guys think?


End file.
